A Little of This, A Little of That
by Angranse
Summary: Various short ficlets, mostly Tortall based. Currently featuring Delia, Josiane, Alanna and Duke Gareth Snr.
1. Artless

**Artless**

Over that winter, Prince Jonathan and Duke Roger sparred more than once. Josiane found this very curious, as no heir to the throne of the Copper Isles would ever do anything so risky, and there seemed to be no love lost between the Prince and the Duke. She supposed it was a Tortallan custom. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest.

During one of the bouts, Josiane found herself watching alone from the balcony above the practice courts when she suddenly became aware of a presence behind her. She tensed, the habits of a lifetime of fear not easily discarded, then made herself relax. This was Tortall. She was safe here.

"Oh, how sweet," it was Lady Delia's rich voice. "The Prince and his cousin, fencing."

Josiane turned a little to see her. Lady Delia was strikingly dressed as usual, in a provocative gown of deepest green.

"Yes," Josiane replied, her voice still slightly accented, "His Highness is very good."

Delia came forward, her eyes on the fencing pair. "Yes, I suppose he his. But look closely at Duke Roger," she said thoughtfully, slipping her arm round Josiane's waist. Josiane tensed a little, but then relaxed. She was still becoming accustomed to the physical touches Delia bestowed on everyone. It was a Tortallan thing, she supposed.

"Do you see how the Duke moves faster in defence than offense?" Delia asked quietly, leaning in so it felt conspiratorial. Josiane watched the fencers closely, and slowly began to see it.

"Yes," she murmured.

"He's holding back," Delia said with some satisfaction. "So as not to hurt his cousin's feelings, no doubt." She glanced over and smiled warmly at Josiane. It reached her eyes and softened them. "He's a very good man, the Duke. Have you met him?"

"No," Josiane answered absently, still watching the bout closely. "So you think that the Duke will win?"

"Oh yes," Delia said with certainty. "I have no doubt about it." She paused and glanced over at Josiane. After a moment of silence Josiane turned and met her eyes, puzzled. Delia smiled and said gently, "I will introduce you to him. You have much in common."


	2. Penultimate

**Penultimate**

The room was dim and hot, and heavy with the scent of incense. Alanna perched awkwardly on the stool set by the bed.

"I worshipped you," she said abruptly, then had to admit, "And was terrified of you. We all were, I think."

Duke Gareth's lips curved up a bare fraction. It only emphasised his gaunt face and sunken eyes, but it was enough to reassure Alanna. She continued.

"You seemed immoveable, unchangeable, to us pages. A veritable force of nature." She tried to smile, but it twisted and turned out hard and full of hurt. "When I came back with the Dominion Jewel, and I saw you looking frail and old I felt as if the world had turned upside down, and sea was now the sky. Well," she amended, "Jon being King might have been part of that too, but the King and Queen were dead, and I thought you were dying, and I'd never had someone I loved die before."

Duke Gareth didn't respond in word or movement. His face was looking up towards the ceiling, but his eyes were glazed and, Alanna thought, unseeing.

"You see?" she said softly, even as her eyes counted every rise and fall of his chest. "That's what you taught me. To speak the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and now I can't speak anything else."

Duke Gareth's eyelids flickered slightly, but Alanna thought that might have just been a blink. She bit down on her lip, hard, then continued, and was proud her voice was steady.

"You had a greater influence on my than my own father, and I know you'd like that, because you always liked to get the better of him. You shaped my generation of knights into honest, upstanding men. And women. It is a badge of honour to have been trained by Duke Gareth the Elder. Your memory will live on in Jon, and Raoul, and Gary. And me." Alanna paused, hands clenching into fists around the bedclothes. She felt helpless. Her sword was of no use to her here, and Alanna had never been as good with words. Finally, she said, "I pray that you find peace. You will not be forgotten," but the words sounded hollow and empty.

Duke Gareth's breathing was becoming more ragged, and Raoul had still to speak to him, so Alanna leant over and kissed his cheek.

"Goddess bless, my lord," she whispered, and her voice trembled for the first time. She stood to leave, but as she turned away something bumped her leg gently. She glanced back, and saw it was Duke Gareth's hand, now lying limply on the bed again. She looked up at his face, hope rising suddenly and painfully within her. He was looking at her, his eyes sharper than they had been in weeks though his face was still ashen white. His lips moved, mouthing something that Alanna thought was 'bless', but then his eyes slowly unfocused, gazing at some point in the distance over her shoulder.

Alanna stood still, stricken, before very slowly lifting his frail hand, already bereft of its Ducal ring, and kissing it. It seemed to take all of Alanna's strength just to keep moving, but she stood and left the room, brushing past Raoul as she did so. Outside, people were standing and sitting in grim silence, most too exhausted by Duke Gareth's long slow failing to weep. Gary was there, his face as ashen as his father's.

There was nothing to be done. Alanna joined the dry-eyed crowd to wait.


End file.
